


Resilience

by wateryblooms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Drug Use, Gen, Post The Abominable Bride, Sherlock's parable, Sherlock-centric, Suicidal Sherlock, Suicide Attempt, foreshadowing of recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wateryblooms/pseuds/wateryblooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I survived enough to understand that everyone leaves, in the end. They never look back. And you know what, Mycroft? I don't care. If I'm not able to stop them, I might as well let them go."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resilience

"I'm sorry. I should have read the signs."  
  
Mycroft was standing, a glass of brandy in his steady hand, looking out of the window. It was raining, soft drops tapping against the window glass like a quiet murmuring. An ordinary evening in London. Like nothing had ever happened.  
"It's all my fault." He whispered, almost talking to himself and then, under his breath he added, much to Sherlock's surprise: "Forgive me."  
  
Sherlock had been sitting in front of the fireplace thinking in silence for more than an hour now. At his brother's comment, he slammed his hands against the solid surface of the desk, making Mycroft whimper with surprise. He was shivering, almost feverish, his lips shaking. _I can't take this anymore._  
  
He had considered, before, that everything was bound to be easier after managing to get out of his mind and solve Moriarty's problem, but he had been mistaken. John made much more fuss than he had expected and he couldn't take his worried eyes out of his mind. It was right unstoppable torture in his own brain. When he managed to find his voice, hefinally showed his cards.  
  
So he spoke: "Would you please, _please_ , try to understand me at least once? You and your 'stoic big brother' mask who takes responsibility for all the mess I make? In your long and enduring career as a successful son, would you take off that stupid martyr's mask for once and realize that _not everything is about you?"_  
  
Mycroft stood still, without looking at him. His mouth was reduced to a thin, white line. Sherlock knew he had got his attention: "I'm a grown up man and I'm aware of my choices, even the riskier ones. I might have not been such, the first time, but now, Bother - if I have to go to Hell, at least let me take the credit."  
  
"Why now?" murmured Mycroft with composure: "After all this time. After all you've been through?"  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to stand up. His legs were shaking restlessly, almost like he had lost control over them. When he regained stability, he found himself ready to talk again: "Do you remember that night, Mycroft?" he paused. "Of course you do, but I want to be very clear, so that there will be no place for misunderstandings." He raised his hand like he was counting: "Montague Street, three o'clock in the morning, 15 milliliters of morphine already circulating in my veins. Much more than I had ever taken before, but still not enough to cause an OD. There was a storm outside and I didn't hear your steps, nor I saw you on the doorstep." He lowered his gaze, but kept murmuring:  
  
"The tornique was already around my arm, I was just about to inject another 5 millimiters. And that wouldn't have been all. I meant to reach a massive dose - because the only thing I cared about was not waking up the next day. But then you stepped in, took the syringe away and asked the same question you're asking me now: why?" he shook his head, costrained. "And you didn't give up on me, no matter how I screamed, no matter how I begged you, humiliating myself because I was so desperate, because I needed everything to stop. Needed not to exist anymore. And you looked at me with the same expression you have right now and you said one thing, just one thing...  
  
_"If you do it, you'll never know what happens next."_ finished Mycroft, turning to face him.  
  
" _If you do it, you'll never know what happens next."_ Sherlock trailed off.  
  
His brother's eyes were grey and heavy, but there was no judgement in them.  
  
"And you professed you knew already, because it was predictable and dull and boring. But even though you might have thought you were omniscient, you'd have never been certain whether you were right or wrong. And there's one thing you have never been able to endure, little brother: the latter."  
  
"I stopped." Sherlock continued: "I got clean, twice - I survived as you asked me to do. I survived Redbeard, I survived Victor leaving, I survived the incessant, maddening routine of existence. For years. I managed to direct the efforts of my mind towards a useful job that made me... happy, even? I survived the Woman, I survived my career sinking and my credibility drawning, I survived Jim Moriarty's death - James, that was the only thing that could keep me away from extricating my eyes with boredom. Because in the meanwhile, I discovered reasons to live for. I've survived two years undercover, crawling in the dust, among the greatest risks a man could possibly take, so far away from London. When hoping to come back was the only thing that could sustain me through those nights." Sherlock breathed heavily, unsuccessfully trying to calm his heart rate:  
  
"I survived this, Mycroft: I survived John Watson getting married, I survived a bullet through my chest and a sentence for murder. Locking me up would have been my end, you thought? You were right. But the alternative was leaving London again, and Baker Street, and my life with them.  
  
Was that what I should have survived through?"  
  
He stopped for breath. Mycroft thought he looked far more than resigned, more like a faint shadow of the great man he had convinced everyone he was. He was pale when he started murmuring again, his voice weak and his eyes transparent. "I survived enough to understand that everyone leaves, in the end. They never look back. And you know what, Mycroft? _I don't care._ If I'm not able to stop them, I might as well let them go.  
  
"John told me once that I risk my life to prove I'm clever - he's wrong, obviously: he has never understood me. Because I stay alive to prove I'm right. But what happens when I don't care enough about being right? Because that's it. I don't care anymore whether I'm right or wrong. I don't care about what I leave behind. _I don't care._ This isn't what you were expecting, is it?"  
  
"I understand now that nothing can be done to save someone who doesn't want to be saved." replied Mycroft, lowering his eyes. Sherlock could see his whole figure crumple on itself, like a piece of parchement dissolving in the water. It was admitting defeat. It was just surrending.  
  
"Thirty three years and you finally get it, brother." he muttered, trying to stop a grin from spreading across his face. He let that smile fill him, bubbling inside him and reaching for his lips. He couldn't contain it. "But you are mistaken once more. I won't be your damsel in distress this time. I like one thing more than I like being right. And that's proving people wrong. I take the credit and the fault of every action I operate."  
  
His smile was brighter than ever, when he straightened his back and looked his brother directedly in the eyes.  
  
"And now step back and look as _I_ save myself."

  


**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language. If you find any mistakes, please point them out. Comments are always appreciated <3.


End file.
